


Age Cannot Wither

by YamiSnuffles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mortality, aziraphale's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: Aziraphale had meticulously catalogued every movement, every smell, every joyous detail of what made that wily old serpent who he was. There was yet more he’d hoped to learn once the Apocalypse was averted- the taste of Crowley’s lips or just what the demon looked like in his bed, first thing in the morning. He’d never imagined this.-A small, nebulously timed fic to accompany racketghost's Closed Set.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135





	Age Cannot Wither

**Author's Note:**

  * For [racketghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racketghost/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Closed Set](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960) by [racketghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racketghost/pseuds/racketghost). 



> This only really makes sense if you've read Racket's lovely fic, so go there first if you haven't already.

_Set some nebulous time during **[Closed Set](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960/chapters/55862155)**_

* * *

There were things, Aziraphale thought, that you learned when you knew someone for just over six thousand years. When you had a… a friend that you’d been through nearly everything with. Aziraphale counted himself an expert on Crowley, though he’d never say so aloud because Crowley would likely scoff and say he was unknowable. He knew the way the demon talked, words sometimes tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that they lost all shape but not all meaning. Aziraphale could translate every hnnnnn, ngk, nyeh, and sound in between at this point. He was an one angel Rosetta Stone of Crowley to English translation.

And it wasn’t just the way Crowley talked. Aziraphale had meticulously catalogued every movement, every smell, every joyous detail of what made that wily old serpent who he was. There was, of course, yet more he’d hoped to learn once the Apocalypse was averted and their respective sides roundly sent packing. However, he’d thought that would mean discovering the taste of Crowley’s lips or just what the demon looked like in his bed, first thing in the morning. He’d never imagined it would mean this.

This, the way all those things he knew about Crowley had shifted one step to the left, from the way he moved to the way he smelled. This, the noticeable stiffness in joints when the weather was poor or when Crowley hadn’t moved for a spell. This, the bone deep exhaustion of someone who truly needed sleep and didn’t just slip into it like a favored pair of shoes. This, the squinting and rubbing of eyes that strained against dim light. This, the too many signs of mortality slipping in.

Aziraphale had seen it all before, of course. He’d known enough humans over the millennia to see the way that the years would start to weigh on them. He’d never imagined he’d see it in Crowley. Never imagined they would have far, far less than another six millennia ahead.

“What is it, angel?”

Aziraphale blinked. He hadn’t been aware he’d been staring. That was usually Crowley’s thing. Or, had been. Before. 

He fluttered his lashes more as he tried to gather up a response. What could he say? That he was adding to an encyclopedia of knowledge with things he’d never hoped to know about his best friend?

“It’s nothing. I only-”

He didn’t like lying to Crowley- he’d tried very hard to avoid it after the whole Antichrist business- but every single truth he held felt cruel. He couldn’t say that he’d just been fretting over Crowley’s still abhorrent posture catching up with him. Or that he was trying to remember if multiple cups of coffee a day were good or bad for human health. Or that he worried, near constantly, that nothing he could do would be enough.

“I was just feeling a bit peckish, I think. It has me out of sorts,” he replied with a soft smile. “Would you join me for lunch? That should set me right.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow and raised his mug. “I’m only just finishing my coffee from our impromptu brunch.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Silly me.”

The slight tremor in Crowley’s hand as he held the mug aloft, was it simply the caffeine? Nerves? Or yet another sign of age? Aziraphale shook his head to free himself of those thoughts. He wanted to enjoy his time with Crowley, whatever was left of it. Just in case…

He jumped to his feet. “A walk then?” He offered a smile and hoped it looked stronger than it felt, tugging tremulously at his lips. “Around St. James. I could use the air. It’s been a while and I don’t want the ducks to think I’ve forgotten them.”

Crowley shook his head. “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.”

Aziraphale tried not to let his eyes linger on Crowley, to watch if it was taking longer that day for the demon to stand up than it had the day before. He would enjoy the moment. He would focus on what they had now and ensure there would be an eternity more moments to follow.


End file.
